


(...laughter and white noise...)

by josephina_x



Series: The Triangle Guy [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ...Or is he?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Bill isn’t Bill, Depression, Gen, Identity Issues, One Year Later, Post-Series, Post-Weirdmageddon, Summer’s End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephina_x/pseuds/josephina_x
Summary: Stanley is gone, gone, gone. Sixer isn’t happy, and things get worse.





	(...laughter and white noise...)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic: (...laughter and white noise…)  
> Fandom: Gravity Falls  
> Pairing: n/a  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Spoilers: through the end of the series, and some of the books (Journal #3)  
> Summary: Stanley is gone, gone, gone. Sixer isn’t happy, and things get worse.  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.  
> AN: ...Yeah. Definitely should be shot. Just sayin’.

\---

“-- _Where is he?!?!_ ” he heard Sixer demand.

When he didn’t answer right away, there was motion, and then Sixer was holding the cage that was containing him up at eye-level.

“Answer me!!”

He blinked at Sixer slowly, from inside the cage, where he was floating low and drooping in place, his one eye barely open.

“I know he came down here!” Sixer said, shaking the cage once, shifting him back and forth inside it. “ _What did you tell him!?_ ”

The words slowly started to make sense.

Sixer was talking about the person who had come downstairs to ‘visit’ him earlier, sometime between the last time Sixer had come down here and now. The person who had come down the elevator, and stepped into a room that… he’d never even known was there, until Sixer had dragged him in this cage down into it. Set him on a desk. Left him there.

The person who had come down to stare at him for awhile. He didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t want to think about it, because he knew that face. He knew that body. He knew those eyes.

Stanley Pines.

Stanley Pines, who he’d thought _he_ was, except he wasn’t. He wasn’t, and couldn’t be, Stanley Pines, because Stanley Pines had stood in front of the desk, in front of the cage he was in, and stared down at him with eyes that in no way were yellow or slitted.

And then Stanley Pines had turned around and walked away.

He was worse than grey fog right now.

He was a triangle, and he was worse than grey fog right now, he _wasn’t_ Stanley Pines.

And he didn’t want to think about that.

He _certainly_ didn’t want to think about that _too hard_.

Because if he _did_ …

Sixer shook the cage he was in vigorously, so hard that his triangular body was slammed back and forth against the bars of the cage. He fell against the back curve of the cage, as Sixer grabbed onto it and tilted it back at an obscene angle, to glare down at him with anger and rage and… something else he couldn’t quite place.

“What did you say to him?” Sixer demanded again. “Where did he go? _Why did he leave?!_ ”

He stared up at Sixer. Everything hurt, but it was all on the inside, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. He couldn’t even gather the energy to blink at Sixer.

“WHERE IS STANLEY!?” Sixer screamed down at him. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!?!”

And at that… he just couldn’t help himself.

He started to laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

AND LAUGH.

Sixer screamed at him some more, after that, but he really couldn’t hear him. He was laughing too loud, and too hard.

And, eventually, he wasn’t.

He wasn’t laughing anymore, but now Sixer’s screaming was like so much white-colored noise. Like snow against the sides of the Shack. The sound of it just didn’t filter through the walls made of wood, just like Sixer’s screams didn’t really manage to filter through the bars of the cage, the faces-and-sides that he had two-and-three of, the edges of his mind...

At some point, Sixer stopped yelling and slammed the cage back down onto his desk so hard that he fell flat against the bottom of it, his triangular body smeared across the circle that didn’t smear -- because Sixer might’ve etched it out in chalk, but he’d reinforced the chalk mixture with magic goop that might as well have made it as lasting and stable as if he’d written it out in permanent marker.

He knew this because Sixer had told him so. Sixer had had an edged sort of pride in his voice when he’d told him about it, too, so it was probably even true.

Eventually, Sixer stopped yelling white-colored noise at him.

He heard Sixer slam his way into the elevator and he heard the doors slam closed. He heard the thing creak its way up the shaft, and then nothing.

He didn’t even bother to try and get back up. Why bother?

He didn’t have the energy for it anyway.

\---


End file.
